This head cold or whatever it was kicked my butt. I wondered if I got false negatives on the Covid tests, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’m recovered, except for some lingering sinus issues. That’s probably related to seasonal allergies, which everyone is complaining about. I’ve taken to the neti pot, and that helps clear the congestion.
Dale caught my cold, and all that congestion made his snoring worse. One night it was so bad I almost called 911. But then I thought, oh, just put the pillow over his face and be done with it. I’m pleased to report he survived the night and has a bright future. The things I do for this man!
I finally felt good enough to go back to swimming. It had been a few weeks, and I felt stiffness in my left arm. I thought, kick a little harder and take the pressure off the arm. So, now I have muscle cramps in my leg. No good deed goes unpunished. It’s better today, so I assume this, too, shall pass. I’ll probably do a short walk just to keep it moving.
That’s kind of my philosophy about all these age-related aches and pains – just keep moving. Although I love to read, I start to feel sluggish when I lie around for hours at a time. I always feel better when I get outside and do something. Of course, I’d play golf if I was on death’s doorstep. And, in fact, have. I played regularly when I was on chemo for stage 3 ovarian cancer. I didn’t want to fall behind just in case I lived.
I subscribed to PBS Masterpiece. I’ve always liked my crime dark and hard-boiled, but I must be softening with age. Like a ripe Camembert. Probably more like an old cucumber.
My sister’s goal is to watch every single Hallmark movie aired between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I might be softening up, but that is her dream, not mine. I do like Elf and Christmas in South Park, so I’m not a complete grinch.
Do you dream about work? I had a weird one last night. Six years, and I still can’t get that business out of my head. But it’s not all bad. When I was working, I put all the money I could into various savings plans, and two of them are set up to make annual distributions for five years. This was year two, so I got my little cash infusion, and I forgave them for the bad dreams.
Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.